


The Royal Bastard

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bastard Jon Snow, Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Jonerys, Queen Daenerys, Royalty, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: As Queen Daenerys approaches him in the gardens, Jon realises that maybe being a bastard is not all that important. A Jonerys AU short story set in the Victorian era. Contains original artwork.





	The Royal Bastard

..

“I believe we have not yet been introduced.”

As Queen Daenerys approached, Jon bowed his head and averted his eyes as he spoke: “Your Majesty, I believe there are no introductions to be made.”

“Surely that is a mistake.”

“I feel certain it was quite the opposite.”

Jon was in his frock coat, the shoulders lightly dusted with rain as the autumn wind swept across the Royal gardens. Between the withering rose bushes, he had thought himself alone; the chatter from the party seemed distant, and only the round moon above illuminated his path.

Yet, it seemed the Queen had easily traced his steps to the edge of the estate. As he gazed upon her, she met his eyes boldly. “I am afraid I do not understand,” she spoke. “You know who I am, but I find myself able to place you. Would you be so kind as to offer me your name?”

“My name is Jon Snow, your Majesty,” Jon replied.

“That would be Jon Snow of what?” she asked.

“Just of this coat,” Jon spoke.

His words caused the Queen’s lips to tuck into a smile. “I sense you jest.”

“I do not,” Jon replied but, finding his own words too brash, he continued: “I arrived with the Starks. I believe you have dined with Lord Robb Stark before? He has been akin a brother to me.”

The Queen seemed to ponder upon these words for a moment, and Jon took the opportunity to take in the sight of her; she was a young monarch of only eighteen, just two years his junior, with silver hair and violet eyes for which she was known. This eve, she was wearing a pale silk and lace dress, the full skirt decorated with thick roses shaped out of white fabric.

_ It may be these bushes aren’t in bloom, _ Jon thought, his attention shortly drawn to the garden in which they stood, _ but she is in her own spring, a budding flower opening up to the world. _

The coronation of Queen Daenerys had been one arranged in haste. Just months earlier, her brother Viserys was still in line for the throne. Whilst he had been brought up to rule, Daenerys had been silent in his shadow, a frail girl left to fend for herself amongst royals who thought her to be plain and of no discerning talent. But thyroid took his young life, and with no other legitimate heirs alive, Daenerys was pulled from the shade into the light.

_ It is peculiar, _ Jon thought as he glanced upon her round, rosy cheeks, _ that anyone could ever think her ordinary. _

“You are the son of Lord Eddard Stark,” the Queen said.

“That I am,” Jon agreed.

“The son of Lady Catelyn Stark?”

He shook his head. “That I am not.” As she asked no further questions, but merely nodded, Jon knew that she had understood; he was a bastard with no claim to the Stark name, and certainly not worthy of an introduction at court. Still, she did not walk away but lingered by his side, her eyes seeking the night sky.

“Well, Mr Snow, would you be so kind as to keep me company?” the Queen asked, resting her hands at her front. “I have been ever so lonely this eve, I should like to talk with someone.”

“Forgive me, your Majesty, but have you not been enjoying your party?” Jon asked in surprise. After all, the ball had been a grand affair; any man of importance was present at the Queen’s request, all of them eager to meet with the newly crowned royal.

The Queen shook her head, and her silver locks danced around her shoulders. “Can I be frank with you?” she asked, “for I sense that I can. My guests are all men and women I have met before. They already bore me.”

At her boldness, Jon couldn’t help but smile. He slowly started walking down the garden path, and the Queen followed, their arms so close they almost touched. “You seek new acquaintances?” he asked.

“People are fickle,” she replied, her eyes looking ahead. “Only last year, my brother held a gathering of his own. Everyone you’ve met tonight were there, only they offered me no smiles and no kind words. At the time, I was just a sister of the coming King. My thoughts did not matter.”

“Yet tonight, they all wish to dance with you,” Jon spoke.

The Queen nodded. “Now, they all long for my recognition. It makes me wonder - did anyone ever like my brother, or were they masquerading at his presence too?” At her own words, her brows furrowed, and Jon felt his throat clench with sadness.

“I am sorry, your Majesty,” he spoke, “It is a difficult thought.”

“You are not going to offer your opinion on the matter?” she asked.

Jon blinked. “How could I? I did not know your brother, and I scarcely know your Highness.”

Daenerys watched him from the corners of her eyes, and Jon sensed that she was reading every detail of his face. “You truly are unlike the other men,” she finally spoke. “But please forgive me - I have indulged far more in my emotions than what is befitting.”

“At times, it is nice to meet a stranger,” Jon said with a smile, “for it makes talking seem less an act.”

“It may be so,” she replied, but Jon sensed that she did not agree. Despite what she said, some words were left unspoken on her lips. He just could not discern which.

The further they walked, the darker it got. Even the moon above could not keep their surroundings lit as darkness clad the grounds. At a turn between the bushes, Jon stopped and turned to the Queen, his head slightly bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I think we should turn around and join the party.”

“Jon,” she spoke his name, and it took him by surprise. No _ mister_, no _ Snow. _ Just Jon. “Please, call me miss. Call me _ Daenerys. _ Just anything but that.”

“Your Majesty-” Jon started at once, his voice startled, but she cut him off:

“Anything but that,” she repeated. “I will be honest - I have watched you tonight. You have been the only man not keen to flatter me, and I find myself vexed.”

Jon licked his thin lips as he looked into her eyes. She was staring at him with earnest, and it woke something in his heart. It made it flutter. He did not know why. “My apologies,” he said, “but it is commonly considered improper for a man of my standing to approach your Highness.”

“You are bastard born,” she spoke.

The word sounded so harsh from her lips. Jon flinched, but he nodded: “I am.”

“As peculiar as this may sound, you are the one most like to understand my position,” the Queen spoke. “You know why your brother Lord Robb is here?” As Jon nodded, she demanded: “Tell me.”

“Akin every man invited, he wishes to wed you,” Jon said. It was a truth universally known; the Queen was expected to give birth to an heir as soon as practical, but to this end she needed a man. One of wealth, and one of importance. Robb had both - not only could the Stark name trace back its blue blood for generations, but it carried a sense of pride. The Starks had always supported the monarchy, fought its wars, and won its battles.

When Viserys was still thought to be crowned, Catelyn had pushed for his sister Sansa to present herself. For the Starks, it seemed the opportunity to heighten their status too good to pass on. So now, it was Robb that Catelyn encouraged, ignoring his pleas that he had already found a woman to marry.

Yet, this was not information that Jon felt he could offer the Queen, so he merely said: “It would be a perfect match,” although it hurt him to speak the words.

“He is handsome,” the Queen admitted. “But I already told you, Jon - I have watched you tonight. Of all the men who have come to court me, you have an honest face. It is one I would like to wake up next to.”

Jon blushed at her words. The mere suggestion was of course ridiculous, but the image in his head made him feel rather light-headed. “Your Majesty-” he spoke again, but once more she cut him off:

“I told you, anything but that. Please, I want to just feel a young girl again.” As she glanced at him, her eyes were brimming with such begging that he could no nothing but comply.

As strange as it felt, he spoke: “Daenerys,” and watched a smile grow on her lips at once.

“Jon,” she said, and he thought:

_ My name has never sounded as good as when spoken by her. _

“Jon, please tell me, how was it growing up amongst the Starks?”

“They have treated me fairly,” Jon spoke at once, his voice as dry as paper. “They have been good to me, and I have wanted for nothing.”

“That is a nice sentence, but it sounds rehearsed.”

“I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss in honest.”

“Not even when asked by the Queen?” she replied, a twinkle in her eyes.

Jon smirked. “Forgive me, but I thought I was speaking to a miss?” he reminded her of her own ask. However, he did not want to appear impolite, so he did continue: “I sense you are correct - I do understand your position. I too have grown in the shadow of my own family. It is hard to feel a sense of belonging when constantly reminded that you are an intrusion.”

“We are not at fault for our births,” the Queen spoke.

“Only for our own fortunes,” Jon replied.

“It is true what I said,” the Queen continued, “I wish to feel like a young girl again. It was not always easy living with my brother, but his obsession with his heritage took up so much of his time that I had plenty of opportunity to discover myself. I know what I like, and I know what I want - in this I am lucky.” She rested her hands behind her back as she looked up at him. “Do you know what you want?” she queried.

Jon felt ashamed to admit: “I do not.” It was the truth; growing up, he sensed there were little opportunities available to a man of his standing. In fact, it was Robb who had urged him to join the army. _ Even a bastard can make a general, _ he had spoken. Jon was not sure if it was the truth, but strangely it did not appeal to him either way. He had no desire to claim a name for himself, this he knew. To him, tracing his family lines through generations meant nothing.

_ I just want to live and feel happy and feel loved, _ Jon thought, and as he glanced into the Queen’s eyes, he realised, _ and this is where we are the same. We both do not care for the plans others have made. We just want to be. We just want to love. _

“Jon,” the Queen said, “I wish to dance.”

“Would you trust me to lead?” Jon asked, and, as she nodded, he reached out to take hold of her.

It should feel so strange, but it felt so natural; his hand on her waist, his other in hers, the soft of her dress pressing to the rough fabric of his coat. As he led her, they stepped through the empty gardens, dancing between bushes and trees, atop flowerbeds and past glimmering ponds. And she was beautiful, he thought, not at all the plain woman she had been made out to be, and she was interesting, he knew, not a bore like rumoured.

So they danced in the eve, the moon their only light, and for a while, it did not matter that the breeze dragged around them, wettening their clothes as it brought the rain. It only mattered that when they looked into each other’s eyes, they found a profound understanding.

“Your Majesty,” Jon spoke as a handful of minutes had passed. “Do you truly wish me to treat you akin any other girl?”

“I do,” she said. “This is what I have longed for.”

“Then please forgive me,” he spoke, as he leaned in to kiss her.

He knew she was shocked, for she did not kiss him back at once. But before he could worry, her hands slipped to his hair, and she felt his curly, black locks between her fingertips as she pushed her lips back against his, meeting his kiss with a desire of her own.

_ They all wanted her, _ Jon thought to himself as her soft lips left his, the cool air settling between them as they gazed into each others eyes, _ but I got her. _

“I wish we could stay here,” she whispered, “for a thousand years, and then more.”

“I wish so too,” Jon replied, but he knew that time had run out, for when he paused to breathe, he heard footsteps approaching.

They parted at once, and Jon backed into the shadows of a nearby tree as his brother showed on the path.

“Your Highness,” Robb spoke, bowing deeply at the sight of Daenerys. “You had me worried, your Majesty. We have been looking all over for you. Please, would you allow me to escort you back?”

The Queen looked around her, her eyes seeking Jon, but he nodded at her, gesturing for her to follow his brother. “Thank you,” she spoke, but she paused for so long that Jon knew it was meant for him although her eyes rested on Robb. “That was very kind of you.”

He stood still as he watched them walk, side by side, a supposedly perfect pairing. But he also saw as the Queen glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sought his in the dark of the garden. And he knew this would not be the last time that they danced.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone for some Victorian Era? DragonandDirewolf really wanted for me to write this - in fact, she wanted a multichapter story, but my time is short! Maybe one day? Anyway, beautiful art by DragonandDirewolf as always. I really love this piece, it's so sweet and gentle! Hope you like it too?


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